"I've investigated that," returned Kingman. "I find that Christmas is a completely Terran date and is therefore legal for any and all legal action on any planet or place removed from the interplanetary boundary of the planet Terra. That, Channing, has been established to be the Channing Layer." "And how about the personnel? Must they get the hell off too?" asked Channing loftily. "You and your managerial cohorts must leave. Those upon whom the continued service of communications depend are requested to remain--under new management." "You're taking on a big bite," grinned Channing. "I trust you can chew it." "I need no help from the likes of you." "Good. And now that you've had your say I'll return to my own affairs. Make yourself at home; you'll not be bothered here." Kingman nodded slowly. He'd expected a battle, and he believed that Channing did not think it true. Channing would find damn well out once he appeared before the Interplanetary Communications Commission. In the meantime, of course, he might as well remain in the office. There was an apartment next door, and it was comfortable. He did not notice that every very personal thing had been removed from Channing's office. Frankly, Kingman did not care. He had everything his own way. The senior officer spoke, "You need us any more, Mr. Kingman?" "No," replied the new owner of Venus Equilateral. "Then we'll return to duty on Terra," said the officer. Channing went back to the party and spent ten minutes telling his friends what had happened. Then he forgot about it and joined in the merrymaking, which was growing more boisterous and uninhibited by the moment. It was in the wee small hours of the clock--though not necessarily the night, for there is no such thing on Venus Equilateral--when the party broke up and people bundled up and braved the howling blizzard that raged up and down the halls. Home to warmth and cheer--and bed. * * * * * Arden sat up in bed and looked sleepily around the dark bedroom. "Don," she asked with some concern, "you're not sick?" "Nope," he replied. Arden pursed her lips. She snapped the light on and saw that Don was half-dressed. "What gives?" she demanded, slipping out of bed and reaching for a robe. "Frankly--" "You've been stewing over that blown-out fuse." He nodded sheepishly. "I knew it. Why?" "Those tubes have been running on a maintenance load for days. They shouldn't blow out." "Critter of habit, aren't you?" grinned Arden. Don nodded. "A consuming curiosity, I guess." Arden smiled as she continued to climb into her clothing. "You're not the only one in this family that has a lump of curiosity," she told him. "But it's--"